


i found my only comfort in airwaves that brought your voice (to me)

by quintessentially3



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Anarchy, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Broadcasting, But not in that sense, Character Death, Death, End of the World, F/F, Hearing Voices, Heavy Angst, Illegal Activities, Implied Murder, Late Night Writing, M/M, Minor Violence, Not Beta Read, Oneshot, Post-Book: Carry On, Radio, Refugees, Soulmates, Starvation, War, baz isn't a vampire, broken city - Freeform, call to help, facial injury, it's a mess, no magic, radio silence, radio station, running out of resources, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quintessentially3/pseuds/quintessentially3
Summary: three survivors. a radio between them, and a missing broadcaster.





	i found my only comfort in airwaves that brought your voice (to me)

_radio silence._

nothing for 5 days now. they’d had no news, no entertainment, not even any music.

_he never went this long without broadcasting._

Simon twisted the dial again, trying to catch the right airwave, the one that sent The Broadcaster’s familiar voice through his worn speakers. He was rewarded with nothing. The station, the same one The Broadcaster always used, was lost.

_89.6. that was his station. Broadcast from a small, nondescript building near the cove, miles away from the city. despite the faulty equipment, he’d done his best. he’d tried to keep to a schedule. he’d tried to talk about what was really going on. even if no one was listening._

The Broadcaster was the only news they got. Without it, Simon and others were completely cut off. He turned away from the radio. Penelope’s disappointed stare met his. Beside her, Agatha’s once pretty face crumpled. The bandage covering her left eye was bloody.

_he remembered when he’d first stumbled into the station. he’d been drunk on pain, too delirious to notice much about his surroundings other than the lack of immediate danger. he didn’t know how long he’d slept._

Simon fished out the last can of their stolen provisions and cracked it open. He offered it to Agatha first. Penelope leaned over to help her eat. After this, they’d be resigned to hunting or scavenging through abandoned homes and shops. They finished their meal in silence, passing the can back and forth between them.

_when he’d woken up, his wounds had stitched themselves shut. taking off his bloody clothes had been fun. he’d wandered around the tiny building for a while, looking for something to eat. he’d stumbled into the recording room, or whatever it was called, naked. not that the body slumped in the seat had cared._

Agatha turned her head, allowing Penelope to lift the bandages and inspect her wounds. Simon sucked in a breath. He still wasn’t used to the bloody mess of scar tissue that made up the left side of Agatha’s face. Penny glanced at him and started using the corner of her sleeve to try and clean the wound. Agatha whimpered softly, clutching her hands into fists.

_he’d stripped the body. the clothes were huge on him, but they were mostly clean. he didn’t want to speculate about what killed whoever that had been. he didn’t want to spend more time with the body than he had to. he’d seen too much death already._

Simon remembered the first broadcast. It had come about a month after they’d escaped the city. The Broadcaster hadn’t even spoken. But Simon remembered the way the radio, not yet theirs, had crackled to life, swelling into an old classical piece that would become The Broadcaster’s identifier, signaling the start of every broadcast. He’d stolen the radio as soon as the song cut off and the static died back down into silence.

_eventually, he worked up the courage (and the strength) to move the body. he’d cleaned off the equipment beneath, doing his best to ignore the bloodstains. he’d found a generator and enough food to last him years. water, too. he’d found music and accidentally sent out his first broadcast, a cruddy recording of an old classical piece._

Simon remembered the first time he’d heard The Broadcaster’s voice with stunning clarity. Not that The Broadcaster's voice had been clear. In fact, it had sounded... almost in pain.

_the first time he tried to speak on the radio, he nearly broke down._

He could hear the tears and grief like a rollercoaster in The Broadcaster's voice. 

_he'd had everything. food, safety, healthcare, so much that he'd taken it for granted. and now it was all gone. ripped away like a bandaid. maybe rome wasn't built in a day, but it could be destroyed in one._

Over time, the grief and sadness had slipped out of The Broadcaster's voice like a stain washed from a sheet. Broadcasts got to be more and more regular, with less music and more talking. It had been comforting, knowing someone else was out there. Knowing they weren't alone. 

_he'd started out small, trying to figure out the controls and everything. his first broadcast hadn't been a rousing speech or anything._

Sometimes The Broadcaster talked about his life.

 _soon the radio became his confidant. he could tell it anything, from memories to stupid stories he made up to the weather._  

Simon liked hearing about The Broadcaster's life. The Broadcaster had lost everything in the attack on the city, and you could hear it through the radio, like tiny cracks in a dam, letting the smallest amount of water slip past. 

_his mother had always told him he'd had a wonderful voice._

And the weather near The Broadcaster, that was interesting. It had been mentioned once that The Broadcaster lived by the coast. 

_nobody had rescued his mother._

The coast, which wasn't far away at all. 

_nobody would rescue him._

Simon stood. Penny glanced at him, refixing the bandage to Agatha's eye. She glanced down at the radio, and Simon nodded. With a sigh, she stood, pulling Agatha up with her. 

_he closed his eyes. his throat was parched. he wondered how much longer he'd have to suffer._

* * *

They'd been walking for a long time. Every so often, Agatha would trip and nearly fall, and Penny or Simon would help her up without a word, and when Simon walked in front of them he could feel Penny's glare burning into his head. She'd told him this was stupid in a voice nothing like The Broadcaster's.

_he wondered if his voice would sound the same now, or if it would rasp like the wind in a sandstorm._

Simon didn't care. They would die either way. Even now, he could feel the sharp pain of hunger. 

_he'd been thirsty before._

Any food they found, they gave to Agatha. 

_but that had been nothing compared to this._

Looking over his shoulder, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been full. 

_and it was ironic, wasn't it? he was surrounded by food._

They'd already crossed enough rivers to fend off dehydration and fill their water bottles.  

_all dry food, of course. nothing to moisten his lips or refresh his throat._

That night, Penny managed to catch a scrawny rabbit. They devoured it, all three of them. The first food they'd had in days. 

_if he'd been more careful about checking his wounds, he wouldn't be in this mess, so he guessed it was his own fault._

Agatha's wounds had stopped bleeding so much. Simon said it was a good thing. Penny said it was because they were starving. 

_he could feel the infection, on top of the dehydration._

Then one day Agatha said she could smell something salty. 

_and he got fevers. lots of fevers. the pain came and went with the fevers._

Penny and Simon couldn't. They kept walking. Simon's legs felt very breakable. His muscles hurt. The trees were thinning around them. 

_sometimes he saw things during the fevers. sometimes he saw his mother._

Soon Penny could smell the salt too.

_sometimes he saw his mother dying._

They'd reached the edge of the trees and the start of the sea. Agatha could barely walk. Penny's face was gaunt and her skin was almost lifeless. Simon was the first to spot the small building. 

_he was dying, now, too. he'd be dead soon._

They were at the door. They were inside. It was warm. Penny found some food. They ate. 

_he closed his eyes. his leg was burning. so was his throat. he could see something moving. he was delirious._

Simon found him. Penny and Agatha were asleep. He looked like he was dead. 

_someone was shaking him. it was annoying._

Penny said he was dehydrated. Agatha tilted his head back. Simon emptied his water bottle into the boy's mouth. 

_his throat was wet._

His eyes fluttered. He wasn't dead. Simon wanted to cry with relief. 

_it felt good to know that he'd been granted one small mercy before he died._


End file.
